


Laugh While You're Bleeding

by diemarysues



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Azanulbizar, can be considered incest if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 01:30:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diemarysues/pseuds/diemarysues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Azanulbizar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laugh While You're Bleeding

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed. For Lauren.

It shouldn’t have been like this. They shouldn’t have lost so much. They had won the battle, but it hadn’t been worth all the lives… It hadn’t.

 

Thorin picked his way through the battlefield. There were others doing the same, but where he was just staring listlessly, they were clearing the bodies of their fallen comrades, and piling Orc carcasses to be burnt.

 

Thorin wondered if anyone had collected his grandfather’s body – and head. He wondered if anyone had found his father.

 

The noonday sun burned overhead, and Thorin wondered if all of this had really been necessary. He wondered if he could have prevented this; if he could have somehow convinced Thrór that Moria could not be reclaimed. As galling as it was to have their ancient stronghold in the hands of Goblins, it did not change the fact that Durin’s Bane still resided within its halls.

 

He saw Balin and Dwalin off in the distance, their foreheads pressed together firmly, and had to turn away. So they had heard of Fundin’s death, then.

 

Mahal. They had lost so much already (his mind very firmly skittered over thoughts of Erebor) – how could anyone have allowed this to happen?

 

A Dwarf approached, bowing carefully, as if he was favouring his ribs. Thorin narrowed his eyes. He’d have to insist that the lad see a healer.

 

“What is your message?”

 

“My Pr – my King, I have news. Your brother –”

 

Thorin’s heart skipped. His hand went immediately to the soldier’s cuirass, slipping against the dark blood there before he found a firm grip enough to pull him forward. “Say not that he is dead.”

 

The young Dwarf raised a hand as if to lay it on Thorin’s, but caught himself. “He lives, Sire. He rests in his tent. But there is something you must know…”

 

“Spit it out.” Was his brother only just clinging to the threads of his life? Was he disabled in some way? They could work around that – so long as Frerin remained _alive_ that was the most important –

 

He cleared his throat, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “Your sister, she –”

 

If he said anything more, Thorin didn’t hear it. Not past the terrific roaring in his ears, and certainly not with him running towards the tents. His muscles were absolutely _screaming_ in protest at this abuse, but he didn’t care. He needed to, _Dís_ , his sister, their sister, he needed –

 

The tents were set up neatly so they were not downwind of the steadily-growing stench from the front gates. The healing tents were arranged around the edges, the walls of the tent rolled up for now to allow the thin breeze to blow through.

 

Just a glance at the amount of healing tents was sobering.

 

Thorin was heading towards the centre of camp, however, where the blue tents for his kin were located. His breath stuttered for a bit as he remembered his grandfather’s severed head being borne aloft by that _creature_ , but he powered through, putting one leaden foot in front of the other as he continued running.

 

No one looked twice at their King. This was fitting; Thorin didn’t feel like one right now. He didn’t know if he ever could, if anything had happened to his…

 

Only when he was inside and caught sight of Frerin on a cot did Thorin realise he was still holding on to his oaken branch. It slipped out of his grasp and onto the furs arranged on the floor as Dís calmly rose to her feet.

 

She was halfway out of her armour, presumably only in order to put her arm in a sling. Her bow lay by her feet, shattered, and she appeared to have missed the entire left side of her neck when cleaning herself of blood. Her expression was slate-blank.

 

“Yes,” she said, voice trembling. “Yes, I fought.”

 

Thorin was almost within touching distance of her when he crashed painfully to his knees. Frerin stirred, but did not wake.

 

“You are not supposed to be here,” Thorin muttered. He kept his eyes down, even when Dís stepped close.

 

“What would you have me do, Thorin? I couldn’t sit by knowing that my family was here –”

 

He forced his arms up and around her middle, resting his forehead against her belly. His eyes burned. “You said you did not want to be part of this.”

Dís’ shaking fingers stroked through his hair, uncaring of the filth and the blood. “I didn’t. But if I had not come, I would not only have lost a grandfather and a father, I would have lost a brother.”

 

Thorin winced, and clutched at his sister harder, enough that she grunted with pain. “I could have lost you _both_.”

 

“But you didn’t. We are alive.” She tugged on his hair ruthlessly. “Because of _me_ , I might add.”

 

“And I thank Mahal that your skills surpass ours.”

 

Dís forced his chin upwards. “Yet you went after the Pale Orc. I was told.”

 

Thorin expected anger to surge through his veins, or for immense satisfaction to settle in his bones. Instead he felt small and worn.

 

“I had to, Dís, he… he killed Thrór.” His breath hitched sharply. “He tore off his head and taunted me with it. I could not… I could not think to do anything but make him pay for that.”

 

“You would have thrown your life away for revenge. I want you to think about that, Thorin. You could have died. And if I had not been by our brother’s side, he would have too. I would have been all alone in this world.”

 

Thorin was about to protest this when a voice – Frerin’s voice – croaked, “Now you are just insulting me, sister.”

 

Frerin was smiling lopsidedly at his siblings; he looked entirely too comfortable for someone littered with injuries and practically covered in bandages.

 

“I think I’m correct in assuming that I’ve been dosed thoroughly.” He let out what could only be described as a giggle. “I can’t feel my feet.”

 

“That is because your bones are shattered,” Dís said unkindly.

 

Frerin ignored this, as he was wont to do. “Are you scolding our little sister?” he asked Thorin. “Because I want to watch.”

 

“How can I scold her? She saved you.” he replied simply.

 

“Someone had to,” Dís grumbled, settling onto the cot beside Frerin. He tucked his head under her chin, and she sighed before kissing his hair. “Will you join us, brother?”

 

Thorin bowed his head, still kneeling. “A moment.” His hands were fisted on his thighs, dirty and bruised and bloody. He had lost many things in his life, he had lost many things today – but the most important thing was what he _hadn’t_ lost.

 

His brother and sister were _alive_.

 

“Why’s he on the floor?” Frerin whispered loudly.

 

Thorin smiled.


End file.
